I’ve been a designer and developer since 2011. That’s fifteen years of pixels, code, late-night deployments, and CSS bugs that make no sense until suddenly they do. I’m a woman in STEM, and I’m proud of that. I’m also a mother of three daughters, nearing 40, and lately I’ve been carrying something I think many of us carry quietly.
So I’m writing this to you, mother to mother, to ask: do you feel this too?
When every AI update feels like a test
Every time a new AI model drops, my feed fills up. Full SaaS products, built in a weekend. Complete design automation, from idea to finished interface. Product videos that look agency-made. And I scroll through it thinking, wow, you can do that now? My automations? Simple stuff. Nothing anyone would call a flex.
Then comes the quieter thought: I’ve been doing this for more than a decade. Shouldn’t I be able to build things like that by now?
I know it’s not about flexing. But you know the feeling. It’s the worry sitting under the scrolling. Am I falling behind? Am I still needed? And because I’m a mother, that worry doesn’t stay small. It jumps straight to rent, groceries, school fees, and my girls. What if my company decides one day they don’t need me? What if, at this age, I can’t find another job?
That’s not being dramatic. That’s a mother doing the math.
The thing I built that I’m scared of
Here’s the funny part. I use AI too. I’ve automated a lot of the repetitive parts of my work. What used to take me a full day now takes a fraction of that.
Yes, I’ve picked up new skills along the way, and I’m grateful for that. But unlike the people online building stronger portfolios, my biggest reason was simpler, so I could be present. So I could sit with my teenage daughters while they do their work. So I could cook dinner properly. So I could spend evenings at the playground with my 2-year-old. I even started running three times a week.
And still, a small voice whispers: What if the automation you built is the reason they don’t need you anymore?
What the people around me see
My team members tell me they’re comfortable working with me. I get compliments on my work fairly often, and I’m grateful for every one of them.
My husband works in tech too, so he understands this world. He once told me he’s proud of me when I’m being the best version of myself. That stayed with me, because I’ve always been passionate about what I do. I truly believe you should find work you love, not just a job for the sake of paying the bills. Design and code have never felt like just a paycheck to me. They’re part of who I am.
So you’d think all of that would be enough. But do you know what my first thought usually is after a compliment?
I still don’t think I’m doing enough.
It’s the same voice that shows up when I revisit my old designs and cringe, wondering how they ever got approved and published. The voice that raises the bar every time I get close to it. I think many of us know that voice well, especially those of us who spent years proving we belonged in rooms that weren’t built with us in mind.
Ideas feel awam now
I have ideas. Like, a lot. A new campaign. A fresh angle on the design system. But since AI, so many ideas feel awam, in other word, basic. Everyone asks the same tools the same questions and gets the same answers.
Here’s what I’m slowly realising, though. If ideas are cheap now, the rare things are the ones AI can’t give you: taste, context, and lived experience. AI doesn’t know what it’s like to debug code with a toddler climbing on your back. It hasn’t rebuilt its life after hard seasons. It doesn’t know which moments at the school gate or the playground spark something worth building.
We do. That’s not awam. That’s ours.
What I’m learning to tell myself
I’m learning that wanting to contribute more can come from two places. One is hunger: I have ideas, and I want to grow. That one is healthy. The other is fear: If I stop pushing, they’ll realise I’m not enough. That one never gets satisfied, no matter how much I do.
I’m learning that comparing my full, real life to someone else’s highlight reel will always make me feel behind.
I’m learning that when worry starts showing up in my body, in my sleep, my energy, my patience, it’s not weakness. It’s a signal to slow down and take care of myself too.
And I’m learning that a life where I finish my work well, cook for my kids, help with homework, run, and sit on a playground bench at sunset might be the thing worth flexing after all.
Be grateful, and leaving the rest to God
Somewhere in all this worrying, I realised I had forgotten something simple: to be grateful.
When I stop scrolling and actually look at my life, there’s so much to be thankful for. Work I love. Team members who enjoy working with me. A husband who’s proud of me. Three daughters I get to watch grow up up close, not just in the gaps between meetings. Health strong enough to run. Time to cook, to sit with homework, to watch the sunset from a playground bench.
That is a lot of rezeki. More than I sometimes give myself permission to see.
The fear of being replaced, of not being able to provide for my kids, comes from trying to control things that were never fully in my hands. I can do my part. I can keep learning, keep showing up, keep doing my work with heart and honesty. But the outcome, the rezeki, the doors that open and close, that belongs to God.
There’s a kind of peace in that. Not giving up, but letting go of what I was never meant to carry. Do your best, be super grateful for what you have, and leave the rest to Him.
I’m still practising this every day. Some days the worry wins. But on the days I remember to be grateful first, the “not enough” voice gets a little quieter.
So, mother to mother
If you’re a mother in STEM and you’ve ever felt like the world is moving too fast, like you’re one update away from being replaced, like no amount of doing is ever enough, I want you to know you’re not alone. I feel it too.
We’ve survived harder things than a new AI model. We’ve built careers in fields that didn’t always make room for us, while raising humans. That counts. It counts a lot.
So tell me: do you relate? What does that “not enough” voice sound like for you? And what do you do when it gets loud?
I’d really love to hear from you.
— Husna, designer+developer, mother of three
